


That Cupboard Fic

by publius_ham



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M, Mentions of past abuse, PTSD, Panic Attacks, cupboard ptsd
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-08
Updated: 2017-11-03
Packaged: 2018-09-15 19:36:01
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,489
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9252734
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/publius_ham/pseuds/publius_ham
Summary: “Tell me,” Draco said – no, growled, like a deep rumble from somewhere deep in his chest, his hands still locked around Harry’s, positively determined not to let go. Harry wasn’t fighting him off. “Who did this to you?”





	1. I

It was a fucking _cupboard._

And Harry would’ve been fine, would’ve gladly helped Draco to put their boxes filled with stuff they didn’t really need but wanted to keep nonetheless inside any other room – the attic, the scary basement, even the ‘sex bedroom’, as Draco had dubbed it when they’d been looking around the house for the first time.

Anything, except the fucking _cupboard under the stairs._

As soon as he saw the door he’d recoiled, hitting his head on the ceiling on his jump, whilst the heavy box of old Potion journals of Draco hit the floor with a loud _thud._

Everything inside Harry screeched to a halt, as if he’d somehow jumped on the emergency break, and when he’d moved away properly that he wasn’t able to touch the door, he just stared.

 _It’s just a door,_ he firmly reminded himself. _It’s just a wooden door that leads to a simple, small room that just happens to be underneath a set of stairs._

But he couldn’t breathe.

 _It’s just a room,_ he thought, feeling as though something was crawling from the inside of his stomach up in his body, making it more and more difficult to focus on logical thought, _but it’s a fucking cupboard._

Before he was able to stop himself he let out a whimpering sound – almost a moan and a cry in one, and it was loud, too, echoing through the small hall and up and up and up the stairs and –

 _Slam._ “Harry?” came Draco’s voice from upstairs. “You okay?”

He wanted to yell back, but he couldn’t.

He wasn’t okay.

_It was a cupboard under the stairs._

“Harry?” Draco repeated once more.

When Harry didn’t answer, he sighed, and he finally appeared on the top of the stairs. He just looked down for a minute, staring at the box – the journals had slipped out during their fall – and then at Harry, who kept staring at the door as if that might set it on fire.

Then, as if someone had flipped a switch, Draco came thundering down the stairs, jumped over the journals, and wrapped Harry up in his arms.

It was only then that Harry realized he’d been crying.


	2. II

Harry had never been the kind of person to talk about his feelings.

Much less about the fucking _Dursleys_.

In the past he’d gotten away with it, too.

Maybe he could blame – or bless – his best friend for being so obviously Gryffindor, for not seeing the fleeting looks Harry would give him whenever they’d entered a dark and small room, for not noticing how Harry would just go deeper and deeper within himself whenever someone mentioned Sirius or Cedric.

(Sure, Hermione might’ve noticed something, if there hadn’t been something more important like a fucking war going on than Harry’s _feelings_.)

Now, however, he was dating a Slytherin.

And that was an entire different story.

“Tell me,” Draco said – no, _growled_ , like a deep rumble from somewhere deep in his chest, his hands still locked around Harry’s, positively determined not to let go. Harry wasn’t fighting him off. “Who did this to you?”

He couldn’t – he just couldn’t tell him.

“I –”                         

Draco wouldn’t understand.

Harry had always given him the idea that the wizarding world’s view of him _–‘the Saviour’_ – had not been any different from how his ‘family’ had seen him. Draco had, ever since they were kids, thought that Harry had been doted on, loved – treated like a normal child.

Why would Harry have told him the truth?

Why would Draco have listened – seeing as no one had listened in the past?

_They had never even asked about the bars._

“It’s –” why was his voice breaking? He was fine, fine _, fine – “_ nothing. I bumped my head, that’s all.”

“Don’t be daft, you idiot. You know what I meant. Why are you _crying?_ ”

Harry laughed, though it sounded more like a sob. “Because, as I said, I bumped my head.”

Draco lifted his head – without lessening his dead-like grip – and arched a brow. “I’ve seen you break your arm at the age of twelve and still catch the snitch without a single tear. You were smiling at Dumbledore’s death –“

“That’s not fair, that was completely –“

“I was not finished.” How Draco could look like a person in total control while hugging a panicked, crying boyfriend was a miracle. It was probably his Slytherin side – the bloody ponce. “As I was saying. Even when you _died_ and _came back from the dead_ your eyes were just like normal; full of fire and rage and justice – but dry.”

“Draco…”

“No, I will _not_ let this go.” Draco’s face hardened, which was a sure sign that he was going to ‘ _put his foot down_.’ “We are going to sit down, drink a cuppa, and you’re going to tell me everything.”

“Draco –”

“And by everything, I mean fucking _everything.”_ There was a fire in Draco’s eyes now that Harry had never seen before. “Everything you have never deemed important to tell anyone – Dumbledore, your friends, _me._ Okay?”

Harry looked back to the cupboard.

Something closed down around his throat.

“Y- yeah,” he muttered then, his breath leaving him, and he turned his head to look back at Draco. “Alright.”

Draco squeezed again, his eyes awfully tender. “Alright,” he replied, his voice even softer. And then he kissed Harry on his nose, and for a second – a fleeting, blissful second – Harry felt like he could breathe again.

_They had never even asked about the bars._

_But Draco – he would have._

And for that moment, it was enough.  


	3. III

How did you tell your boyfriend about your past?

How could Harry tell _him_ , _Draco_ , who kept petting and kissing him as he moved around Harry on the couch, who had tucked him in a warm blanket and had promptly conjured hot tea for Harry to drink.

How could he tell him, without breaking his heart?

“Harry, love,” Draco finally broke the silence, and sat down on the coffee table opposite of Harry, his eyes warm, kind and so, so gentle it hurt to look at them. “Tell me.”

Harry opened his mouth… only to close it again.

His hands were shaking.

_Why couldn’t he stop shaking?_

“Please, love,” Draco murmured, grabbing Harry’s knee for support. (For him, or Harry, he wasn’t sure.) “Breathe.”

Harry choked in a sob, and he quickly shook his head. “I can’t –”

Draco moved faster than lightening.

He was suddenly in Harry’s lap, the mug of tea gone, and he held Harry’s face in his hands, holding him so gently as if he was afraid Harry was going to break apart if he’d do it more forcefully. He leaned forward to rest his forehead against Harry’s, and he whispered, “shh, shh, _breathe_ , love, that’s it, in, out, slowly –”

Listening to him was one of the hardest things Harry ever had to do.

Because his breaths felt hot and forced, more like short pangs of pain in his lungs than anything else, and everything around him was fuzzy and blurred, as if someone had filtered something around his head, around his body, as if he was somehow cut off from the world in his panic.

Then Draco started kissing him.

On his eyelids, his nose, his cheek – on every part of skin he was able to find.

And he was tender, too, the feather-light kisses covering Harry’s face like a golden shower, his hands cradling him, grounding him there.

_He couldn’t stop shaking._

But he was breathing more easily, now.

“Shh, shh,” Draco repeated over and over and over again. “I’ve got you.”

“Draco,” Harry sobbed, and for the first time _he_ moved, clutching to Draco’s shirt in desperation. “I –“

“Shh, it’s alright.” Draco breathed in deeply, and looked him in the eye, searching from some kind of sign that the minor panic attack had passed. “You don’t have to tell me, it was _stupid_ of me to pressure you –“

“No, it’s… it’s alright.” He still couldn’t stop shaking, but Draco was here, straddling him, holding him, _keeping_ him. “You’re right, I… I have to talk about it.”

“If you’re sure.”

Harry nodded, something throbbing painfully in his head. “Yeah. I…”

“Love, before you go on..” Draco smiled, a gentle smile that made Harry’s heart contract for an entire different reason than pain, “I love you.”

Harry stilled. “I..” he almost teared up all over again.

What had he done in his life to deserve someone like _Draco Malfoy_?

“I love you too,” he whispered, feeling as though he had never been more sincere in his life.

Then, he began talking.

In the beginning it was awkward, his voice tripping over the words, sufficient breath lacking to get it all out, _dammit_ , but once he got to the cupboard it was as if he’d flipped a switch – and it poured out, a waterfall of words leaving him, about the cooking and the chores and the _neglect,_ the touches he never gotten, the hatred he’d felt, the cat flap, the _bars -_

And Draco just sat there, silent, watching him closely, his expression unreadable.

It was almost unnerving.

When Harry was done, his voice cracking from overuse, he just looked at his boyfriend.

“Draco?” He finally said, because Draco was still silent, unmoving, his gaze hard and almost foreign. “Are you alright?”

Then Draco jolted out of Harry’s lap.

Harry almost didn’t recognize him – he was moving abruptly, pulling his wand out, and he had a fierce fire in his eyes that Harry had never seen before.

“I’m going to kill him,” Draco growled under his breath, one hand reaching out to grab Harry’s so tightly it hurt, the other one holding his wand in the air, as if he wanted to curse everything within range into oblivion. “I’m going to kill him so much that –“

“Draco,” Harry whispered, on the one hand relieved by Draco’s reaction, on the other hand terrified, because _Draco couldn’t kill a person, he couldn’t even kill Dumbledore –_ “you’re not going to kill anyone.”

“Oh,” Draco laughed.

But it was a tight, cold laugh, and Harry almost wanted to cry all over again.

“Am I not?” He asked Harry, his eyes shining malevolently. “At this moment, love, I’m not quite sure what exactly I’m capable of. Killing your uncle, however? To avenge what hurt he has done to you?” He grinned. “That, I shall have no problem with.”

_Wait._

Harry leaped off the couch, the blanket all but forgotten. “Draco, _no_.”

“What _, no_?” Draco laughed again, the same laugh that shook Harry to his bones. “Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t go after that _muggle_ and –“

“I love you,” Harry blurted, and he crossed his arms.

He was shaking, he felt so tired that he was scared he was going to pass out any second, but he wasn’t going to let Draco do this.

Draco lowered his wand, his eyebrows almost disappearing into his hairline. “Er, okay. But what does that –”

“If you murder him, you will end up in Azkaban.”

“For you, my love,” Draco’s eyes glinted, “it’s worth it.”

Harry quickly grabbed Draco’s other hand, his wand falling to the floor, and he tucked him closer, burying his head in Draco’s chest, breathing him in.

Without saying anything Draco put his arms around Harry, kissing his scar with a tenderness that almost left him breathless.

“For _me_ , my love,” Harry said, no – _whispered,_ “it’s not.”


	4. IV

Harry Potter had never loved someone as much as he loved Draco.

And he had never loved Draco so much as he did in this moment - his boyfriend keeping him close beneath him, kissing every patch of skin he was able to find, caressing his body as if it was something holy, something frail, something worth fighting for.

Normally, when they had sex, it was something quick – quick and harsh and needy, and  _god_ , Harry loved it. He reveled in it, in Draco’s neediness, in the nails scratching on his skin because Draco couldn’t quite control himself around Harry.

But now,  _god_ – it was the complete opposite.

“Love,” Draco whispered to his skin, kissing his neck and collarbones and his  _everything – “_ are you sure you’re okay to do this right now?” He looked up at Harry in the dark, his eyes shining with something powerful, something unable to completely grasp. “I don’t want to overwhelm you –”

“Please,” Harry said, his voice tearing at the edges, “don’t stop,  _please_  –”

“Okay,” Draco breathed, taking Harry’s hand in his own and squeezing tightly. “Okay,” he repeated, kissing his chest, his stomach, all on his thighs, his eyes constantly fixed on him. “I won’t.”

And he didn’t.

Draco kissed him everywhere, soft and wet and slow – kissing him until Harry was writhing underneath him, not yet begging but getting close to it, the need of  _more, more, more_ itching beneath his skin. He needed Draco closer than the impossible closeness he already was, he needed his boyfriend to keep kissing away the bad memories of that fucking cupboard – he needed Draco to make him forget about every bad night where he couldn’t even get himself to  _cry_.

“I love you,” Draco whispered when he finally, finally wrapped his hand around Harry, kissing his stomach when Harry cried out and bucked up. “I love you,” he said again when all Harry could do was moan and writhe and  _beg,_ hands flailing around, needy hands grabbing Draco to get him to come closer, closer, closer. “I love you so much,” he whispered against Harry’s lips when his fingers finally, finally,  _finally_  probed at Harry’s entrance, wet and slow and oh  _god_ Harry was flying high, high on the feelings threatening to spill over, threatening to drown him, flying high on Draco, Draco,  _Draco._  “I love you, Harry,” Draco moaned when he finally entered him, his hands cradling Harry’s, holding his face so close their breath was mingling, their heartbeats beating in tandem, Draco trusting up and up and  _up_ until Harry was screaming underneath him, his fingers tangled in Draco’s hair and his boyfriend’s name spilling from his lips.

This wasn’t sex.

This was making  _love_.

And after everything that had happened… it was all he needed.

It had been a fucking cupboard – but Harry knew now that it’d be alright. It was alright to cry, to know that the past was fucked up. It was alright to break down, to panic, to let the pain overwhelm you.

Because his boyfriend – his  _Draco_ – would be there to pick up the pieces and put him back together.

Again, again, and again.

“I love you,” Harry breathed, kissing Draco afterwards, his arms locked around him to hold him close, close enough so Draco knew how much he was speaking the truth, how much he needed Draco to  _never_  leave.

“I love you, too,” Draco said to him, smiling into the kiss.

Draco kissed him.

And he kissed him.

Again, and again, and _-_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The end.
> 
> Thank you, everyone, for the kind responses to this fic !! It means the world to me, and I am so grateful for each and every single one of you. Merci.

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on [Tumblr ](http://sappypotter.tumblr.com/)


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